


On A Hot Tin Roof

by azrielen



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mistreatment of Zombies, Post-Apocalypse, Public Sex, Roof Sex, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azrielen/pseuds/azrielen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There may be walkers surrounding their buildings, too many to make an escape just yet, but the heat isn't so bad today, and they have supplies in Glenn's backpack, even more in the relatively sealed-off building below if they need them. The issue is, really, that neither of them deal so well with waiting around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On A Hot Tin Roof

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a twd-kinkmeme prompt about Daryl/Glenn roof sex while trapped on top of a building by walkers. And...that's about all this is, really. XD

The sharp _plink_ of pebbles off the aluminum ventilation shafts that snake across the rooftop is satisfying, Glenn muses, but nowhere near as entertaining as the enraged noise one of the walkers makes in the alley down below whenever he beans them with one of the larger rocks.

Across the alley on the roof of the neighboring building, Rick rolls his eyes and hisses, "Cut that shit out. You'll just keep 'em riled up." Glenn rolls his eyes back.

"Spoilsport," Daryl huffs. He hasn't been watching Glenn for a while now, but Daryl's low little chuckles every time Glenn's rocks make a walker especially pissed is half the reason Glenn keeps throwing them. "Not like they're gonna just up and forget about all the fresh meat up here."

Glenn tosses his last rock across the alley with a laugh, watching it sail over Rick's head close enough to make the other man duck. He's out of rocks in his immediate vicinity, so he turns around, back up against the walled edge of the rooftop. When he settles into the little slice of shade that the wall affords them, he's close enough to Daryl to knock their knees together and earn himself one of the crooked little half-smiles that are becoming less and less rare these days.

Daryl's spent the last few hours they've been stuck up here meticulously cleaning his crossbow. He's picked it clean of dirt right down to the tiny crevices behind the wheels and is currently brushing at the string with the head of a broken toothbrush he found somewhere, using his hunting knife to nip off any little flyaway strands the brushing turns up before the wrapped cord can begin the unravel. Glenn watches the little controlled motions of it, almost hypnotized, until he realizes Daryl's been brushing the same spot for almost a minute. He reaches out to still the hand holding the toothbrush, but find his wrist in an iron grip before he can even think that far ahead. His reaction is instant, tension all through his body, fight or flight, his pulse and breathing quicker, and if Glenn's entirely honest with himself, the sudden hot flush in his neck and chest is not entirely from surprise.

"Daryl?" He's not sure what he's asking. _Are you OK?_ seems kind of ridiculous these days. _Are you freaking out because we're stuck on a rooftop like your brother was?_ seems a little too pointed.

A long minute passes while Daryl grips Glenn's wrist in one hand and the stock of the crossbow white-knuckled in the other, but then he lets go of both, setting the crossbow down off to the side and releasing Glenn's wrist to run his hands through his hair. It's getting longer recently, mussed and dusty and Daryl tugs at it when he's frustrated, like he apparently is right now, and that does nothing at all the ease the beginning of Glenn's erection.

"Sorry," Daryl grumbles out of nowhere, and Glenn laughs again. Daryl says sorry like it's been forced out of him by some authority figure, like he doesn't mean a bit of it, even when he does. It takes some time to gauge the difference. Now though, Daryl just grins again and shoves at Glenn with a good-natured, "Fuck off, Chinaman."

They subside for a minute, just breathing. There may be walkers surrounding their buildings, too many to make an escape just yet, but the heat isn't so bad today, and they have supplies in Glenn's backpack, even more in the relatively sealed-off building below if they need them. The issue is, really, that neither of them deal so well with waiting around.

"We could play tic-tac-toe," Glenn suggests after another minute of resolutely not thinking about how good the sweaty line of Daryl's neck looks when he leans his head back against the wall.

Daryl grunts but doesn't open his eyes.

"Charades?"

At this, they both laugh a little, remembering the spectacularly failed game of charades Dale had attempted to start in camp a few nights ago. Between only half of them knowing the rules, most of them not getting each others' references, and not a single one of them being able to act, it had been a hilarious night, one of the most lighthearted they'd had in a while. Remembering it breaks the tension a little, and Glenn huffs, kicking at Daryl's booted foot. "Well, you suggest something. Useless hick."

Daryl takes a moment, then opens one eye and _smirks_. "You could suck my dick, rice flower." He punctuates his suggestion with a firm grip to the crotch of his loose pants. The way he says it, in the middle of their little name-calling game, could come off as anything but serious. However, there's no one around to hear and only Glenn to rile up with the implications and, well.

It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

It also doesn't do a damned thing to help Glenn's growing distraction. He adjusts himself a little, trying to be discrete, and then gives up and that and gives himself a squeeze. His voice only hitches a little when he replies, "Or you could suck mine."

Daryl hums like he's giving it some thought, and then licks his lips just a little, too casual. "Or you could make me."

Glenn hums back, squinting in the sun and trying to make it look contemplative. He get up, brushing gravel off his ass, says, "Hmm. Sure," and launches himself at Daryl.

It's over in less than a minute, though Glenn fights as dirty as he can without kicking Daryl in the junk, because really, no matter who wins out here, that particular area is going to be vital to the proceedings. Daryl has both a size and weight advantage, along with absolutely no compunction about hair-pulling and biting, which he _knows_ Glenn finds fucking distracting. "You're such an asshole," Glenn wheezes, pinned over the wall at the edge of the roof with one of Daryl's hands squeezing the back of his neck, holding him there. Down below, the walkers renew their fruitless efforts to climb the sheer face of the wall. Glenn tries not to think about the fact that he's not losing his erection at all right now, what the _fuck_. He spits, "You get off on this?"

The hand holding the back of his neck lets go suddenly, and Glenn twists around just in time to be pushed back against the rough concrete, both of Daryl's hands on his hips, shoving hard at the waistband of his jeans. He drags Glenn's pants and boxers down just far enough to uncover the swell of his ass, striking one side hard with his open palm. "What?" Daryl asks, considering the red mark his palm left behind. "Fuckin' this ass in front of a bunch of walkers? Hmm. Maybe." He grabs both cheeks of Glenn's ass in his palms, shoving him forward roughly until his hips are flush against the wall, Glenn's whole upper body hanging over the edge of the roof. Glenn shouts in surprise, though he only feels a little overbalanced, and a little bubble of panic bursts in him, making his heart race and his dick throb where it's trapped against rough denim. 

Daryl's thumbs dig into the spots where Glenn's ass meets his thighs, fingers kneading the soft flesh, and all of Glenn's muscles clench up with how bad he wants. It's enough to finally break Glenn's resolve, and he sighs, shoving back against Daryl's hands to give himself some leverage. "There's condoms in the bag."

Daryl hums again, sounding satisfied. "Knew you'd see things my way eventually. Stay there." He pats Glenn's ass as he steps away and Glenn kicks back at him, hitting nothing but air as Daryl dodges away. Daryl's hard, the front of his pants tented against the ridge of his cock, and Glenn's half-tempted to disobey, turn around and scrape up his knees on the concrete of the roof so he can get himself a taste, but then Daryl's taking the few steps back, undoing his belt one-handed and pushing fabric out of the way to free himself.

Glenn doesn't get to see the hard length of Daryl's cock, though, because Daryl shoves him between the shoulders, pushing him back around and holding him there with a hand at the small of Glenn's back. The smooth concrete of the top of the wall feels cool against Glenn's belly where his shirt has ridden up. He hears the condom wrapper tear and the slick plastic sounds of Daryl rolling the thing on and he lets himself squirm a little, impatient. "Come on."

Daryl doesn't reply with words, but there are suddenly blunt fingers pressing between Glenn's ass cheeks, slick against his hole, and he gasps. The condom must have been lubricated, and _holy fuck_ that is the best news he's gotten in days, because Daryl has two fingers up in him just moments later and the burn is just barely on the right side of hurt. Daryl isn't overly careful with him; he knows what Glenn can take, and those two fingers twisting in him is enough to set Glenn's while body buzzing, wanting more, now. He demands as much and Daryl gives his ass another smack. "Greedy bitch." Glenn feels him move forward, though, the blunt head of Daryl's cock pressing up again the place where his fingers are still buried.

Glenn keens, a low almost angry sound, and tries to push up onto his elbows, to regain some of that lost leverage, but Daryl picks that moment to replace his fingers with the slick, hot stretch of his cock and every bit of resistance goes right out of Glenn. It's surreal how his body opens right up for it, like the hot sharp pain of it is the most welcome thing, and it's a long, breathless minute before Daryl is buried to the hilt in him, both of them panting over the edge of the roof. It's ridiculous, this entire situation. Glenn wants to laugh, but Daryl's started to movie in tight, shallow thrusts that start Glenn's cock hardening again. It's intense, the very pace of it, the stretch of skin and the scrape of Daryl's jagged fingernails down his sides. That spot inside him that Daryl hits every few thrusts, lighting up every sensation even brighter inside him. Glenn comes sudden and hard, curled over the edge of the wall and palming his own cock at an awkward angle.

Behind him, Daryl curses and sucks in a breath as Glenn's ass squeezes the base of his cock. He grips Glenn's hips hard enough that there will be bruises tomorrow, and his next thrust is long and hard enough that Glenn's hands scramble to brace himself against the wall. Glenn's gotten his piece and Daryl knows it, taking what he wants now in thrusts that are longer and deeper than those that would get Glenn off. He makes aborted noises, would-be groans that he mostly catches before they leave his throat, and Glenn wants to hear him but doesn't dare say so. Instead he grits out a desperate, "Fuck, Daryl," panting and over-sensitized, and that seems to do the trick, because Daryl goes dead still and silent, just the thick pulse and flex of his cock inside Glenn to tell him that Daryl is coming. The groan that follows after, though, is Glenn's favorite part, and he savors it, the relieved abandon of it as Daryl leans against him, only half-braced against the wall, panting between Glenn's shoulder blades.

When Glenn finally manages to pry his eyes open and focus them -- when the hell had he closed them, he can't even remember -- he sees the walkers down below have gone back to milling around, just a few of them still mindlessly scraping broken nails against the bricks. "I think," Glenn pants, "They didn't like the show."

Daryl snorts and bites his shoulder before leaning back to pull out. Glenn straightens up, stretching the stiffness out of his back and knees while Daryl strips off the condom and chucks it unceremoniously over the wall. "Walkers, man. Ain't no accounting for taste."

Glenn pauses, staring, and then laughs like it's been punched out of him, pants around his ankles and leaning on Daryl for support.

+++++

"Jesus H, not this again." Across the alley, back up against the wall of his own rooftop, Rick scrubs his hands through his hair and looks over at Shane. "Are you really gonna watch?"

Shane is staring, his eyes wide, just barely peeking overtop the wall. "I can't look away. It's like a train wreck. A really…sweaty…train wreck."

Something Daryl does across the way makes Glenn screech and curse. Rick grimaces. "They're going to draw every walker in the damned city with that."

"Hey," Shane mumbles, sounding a little dazed. Rick resolutely does not look at him this time, or anything Shane's hands might be doing at that given moment. "Maybe they'll. Um. Distract them. And we can go."

Rick doesn't even favor that with a response. Instead, he grabs his hat and goes to find some shade to lie. He's just lie back and think of Lori, and if that doesn't work, maybe walkers will come eat his brain before he goes insane. It's as good a plan as any, because he sure as hell is not going to fuck Shane just to get back at those two, and where did that thought even come from?

Nope. Not gonna happen.


End file.
